This world of mine, it's superfine,
A nice, neat, thin little line.
So sharp, the knife cuts me with every step,
No place to stop, no place to rest.
A few dull spots for a brief respite,
But then I must go on, no strike.
Bare feet on cold steel,
From bare toe to bare heel.
The blood seeps around the blade,
The pain, at points, it seems to fade.
Sometimes so sharp, I want to scream,
Then throw myself off, and hope it's a dream.
But for some reason, I keep on going,
Not able to look, but I notice what I'm to wing.
A long line of my past trails behind me,
Weight that makes it impossible to flee.
But once I let it go, it passes by,
And now I am free, and now I can fly.
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